그림과 추억

이즈막 나는 16세기 유럽의 한 화집을 보다가 한 사내가 팔은 큰 돌에 묶여 있고 한 팔은 날개가 돋아 있는 그림을 보고는 그것이 아주 낯익은지라 곰곰 생각 끝에 떠올린 게 여섯 살 때 일이었다.

시골의 울타리도 없는 이웃집 멍석 위에 알곡이 한마당 널려있고 주인 집식구는 죄다 나가고 문은 열려 있는 안방 앞 토방 위에 닭이 한 마리, 묵직한 돌에 매인 줄에 한 다리가 묶여져 푸드덕거리고 있었다.

나는 한참 그것을 구경하다 둘레의 인기척을 살피고선 기를 써서 끈을 풀어주고는 냅다 뺑소니를 쳐 집으로 돌아와 한나절을 쳐박혀 있었다.

저녁참에 다시 나가 이번엔 집 마당가 먼 발치서 바라보니 닭이 또다시 돌 달린 줄에 매여서 푸드덕거리고 있었다.

저 추억에 잠겼다가 어쩌면 나의 한평생이 저 그림, 저 닭, 같다는 느낌이 들었다.

  The other day, as I was looking at a book of paintings by 16th century European artists, I saw a picture of a man with one arm shackled to a great rock, the other rising in the form of a wing; it all seemed extremely familiar, and after careful thought what emerged was something that happened when I was five or six:

  The yard of the unfenced house next door to ours in the village was covered with grain spread out on straw mats to dry, and the whole family living there had gone out; the door of the main room was open, and up on the roof of the earth-floored space in front of it a hen was flapping around, one leg tied by a cord to a heavy stone.

  After observing it for a while, having made sure nobody was near, with a great effort I snapped the cord, then ran away fast, went home and spent the rest of the day hiding in my room.

  When evening came I emerged and this time peeped into the yard from a distance, only to see that the hen was back flapping around at the end of the cord attached to the stone.

  Immersed in my recollections, I began to feel that my whole existence has been rather similar to that picture, to that hen.